


Make Me

by Mussimm



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale's poor desk the things I do to it, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Consensual Non-Consent, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Established Relationship, Facials, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rape Roleplay, Safewording out kind of, Safewords, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mussimm/pseuds/Mussimm
Summary: Six thousand years of wanting was a knot that needed to be unraveled string by string. Six thousand years gave them issues.Mind the tags, please.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 934
Collections: Hot Omens, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Our Own Side





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekwill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekwill/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to my lovely girl. May you get all the smut you deserve this holiday season.

They'd talked about it. Of course they'd talked about it, they weren't animals.

They'd talked about a lot of things. It hadn't been easy. It took months and bottles on bottles of wine just for the basics, for one of them to say _I wanted you but I couldn't have you_. Six thousand years of wanting was a knot that needed to be unraveled string by string. Six thousand years gave them issues. 

Aziraphale had taken a while to voice this. It was a secret, a shameful thing. It was emotions and fantasies mixed together. He wanted, he wanted madly. He wanted until it wasn't just the soft touches and gentle kisses he wanted. Crowley was a demon, his enemy, he was supposed to attack, to defile. It wouldn't really be an offense if Aziraphale had no choice. He wanted and he feared and it got mixed up in his imagination. That was no crime, was it? 

And then, with wanting and fearing came shame. He was a bad angel to even think of this. He knew he didn't want it, not really, he knew the first dart forward from Crowley, the first hand laid on his person without his consent would bring panic and revulsion. But maybe he wanted it _because_ it never came, because Crowley would have _never_ done that. 

He'd made his confession in whispers, in the dark of night, huddled in their bed, tears of shame running down his cheeks. 

“None of that,” Crowley whispered back, kissing away his tears. “You don't have to worry, yeah? No archangels looking over your shoulder anymore.”

“You're looking over my shoulder,” Aziraphale replied, burying his nose into Crowley's chest.

“I don't look over your shoulder, I watch your back, there's a difference,” Crowley said sharply, strong hands tightening on Aziraphale's shoulders. “Nothing to be ashamed of here. We could play it out if you wanted to. If it'd help.”

It would help, Aziraphale thought. To take that fantasy out of the dark corner of his mind marked _items to repress_ and toss it into the box marked _games_ . Or better yet, up onto another shelf, next to _sex in unconventional places_.

They talked about it, Crowley teasing a few details out of his while he blushed and stammered, working his way around to finding the common elements in his fantasies. It was gentle, a strong hand on his back, reassurances kissed into his hair and face. No judgement, never any judgement here. A few light jokes that made him blush and giggle.

They didn’t have sex that night. That night, he burrowed into the covers, into Crowley's chest, and wept a few more healing tears.

It was forgotten for a time. Aziraphale had been so relieved by Crowley's casual dismissal of his fears that he'd forgotten the second half of the promise. They went about their lives as usual, the bookshop they called home, the dinners on the town, the extracurricular activities in the dead of night. 

Aziraphale straightened his cufflinks in front of the mirror in the bookshop, double checking that the cuffs of the new shirt sat right.

“Angel!” Crowley called from just outside the door. “We're already late!”

“Just a minute, dear!” Aziraphale called back. One of his waistcoat buttons was scuffed. No time to get out the silver polish, so he took a damp tissue and dabbed it, hoping to make it somewhat presentable.

“Really?” Crowley was in the doorway now, stretched out, fond smile on his face.

“Just give me a minute.” 

“I'm going to turn all the clocks forward so we stand a chance of being on time to something one day.”

Aziraphale smiled and held up his pocket watch, indicating Crowley couldn't tamper with every clock. Holding it up he noticed it was starting to look a little tarnished. He took the tissue to it. Heavens, he was practically shabby. 

“Angel...” Crowley warned, one eyebrow quirking. 

“Don't be so impatient.”

He finished up his pocket watch and started adjusting his bowtie. Crowley was stalking closer to him, standing just a few inches behind him. He leaned forward, trailing the tip of his nose up the line of Aziraphale's neck. A shiver chased the touch and Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment.

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, lips brushing Aziraphale's neck. “Get in the car.”

Aziraphale leaned back into his lover, body tingling from the contact. He smiled. “Or what, my darling?”

Crowley grinned with sharp teeth, one hand sliding around Aziraphale's waist and pulling him a little too close to be really convincing. “Or I'll put you there myself.”

Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, coming nose-to-nose with Crowley. “I'd like to see you try.”

Crowley chuckled, leaning in to kiss him. “Would you?”

“Crowley, you're not helping,” Aziraphale breathed, leaning back into him. 

“Helping? As if I could move you one way or the other.” Crowley bit down gently on the long tendon of his neck and Aziraphale gasped. Crowley's hands closed over his wrists. “My stubborn little angel. You smell good. Been thinking about how you smell.”

A glance in the mirror and he could see Crowley's eyes shining, his smile predatory. The hands around his wrists were firm. A shudder of anticipation shot through Aziraphale. “H-have you?”

“Mmhmm.” Crowley nuzzled at his neck, fingers tightening around his wrists until the grip was almost painful. “You like to rile me up, don't you? Knowing I can look, but I can't touch. I'm not going to play your game, angel.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, about to ask what the hell he was talking about, since he'd done a lot more than just touch these past few years, but then he caught Crowley's eyes in the mirror. The whites of his eyes had gone yellow, something dark glinting in the low light of the bookshop. The grip on his arms tightened. 

“We'll miss the show,” he said on a breath. 

“You should have thought about that before giving me lip.”

A terrified thrill shot through him, his mind shooting back to their conversation. _We could play it out_. He realised all at once that he would have to use a miracle or his angelic strength to break out of the hold. Crowley was trapping him. A little panicked gasp escaped him. 

“Colour, angel?” Crowley murmured. His hold was iron but his tone was gentle. One word and Aziraphale could end this before it started. No pressure. With Crowley it was only ever what he wanted. 

His most well-used fantasy was in Mesopotamia, their clothes loose and flowing, Crowley an unknown adversary. He had pictured his robe hiked up his thighs, long red hair dragging along his skin, his knees pressed into a woven sleeping mat. He looked in the mirror, seeing that same face from his fantasy, the same yellow eyes, the same flame-red hair. The claws that would dig into his skin, the teeth that would bite at him. 

“Green,” he said, the word coming out on a breath. 

Crowley yanked his hands, pinning them behind his back and he gasped. His mouth was still at Aziraphale's neck, the barest brush of his lips along the skin. Crowley inhaled deeply. “Smell so good.”

“Wh-what are you doing?” Aziraphale found he didn't have to play act to sound nervous. With his hands trapped and Crowley looming over him the fluttering in his stomach was real, the frisson under his skin was real. 

“What does it look like?” Crowley bit down gently and a whimper escaped Aziraphale's mouth. 

“We can't, you know we can't,” he said, voice trembling. Crowley ignored him and leaned closer, pressing his hips up against Aziraphale's arse. “Crowley, stop this.”

“Don't give me that,” Crowley said. “Don't act like you don't want it.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to pull away, tried to jerk his hands out of Crowley's grasp, but the demon held fast, pulling him back against his chest. 

“Uh uh uh, I don't think so.” Something wrapped around Aziraphale's wrists behind his back, tying so tight it bordered on painful. Now that Crowley’s hands were free, he held Aziraphale firmly in place gripping him at the hip, and reached up to trail a fingertip down the shell of Aziraphale's ear. “I've been waiting for this, angel. I know why you smell so good. That's my favourite cologne, isn't it? Wore it for me, didn't you? You fucking tease.”

Aziraphale pulled at his restraints and a thrill of delicious panic ran through him when they didn't budge. He could hear his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as Crowley dropped his hands to the tarnished silver buttons of his waistcoat. One word, he reminded himself. One word if it was too much and his beloved, protective, doting demon would stop instantly. But he didn’t want this to stop.

“Crowley, no,” he whimpered. “Please stop, you don't have to... We can just forget this happened.”

“Something's got to happen before we can forget it,” Crowley said, eyes boring into Aziraphale in the mirror. “Did you think I'd just watch and want forever? You _like_ teasing me. Like dangling your pretty little self in front of me, knowing I can't have you.”

“I don't, I _don't._ ”

Crowley tugged Aziraphale's bowtie free in one movement, dropping it to the ground, then started on his shirt buttons. Aziraphale saw his own face turning bright pink in the mirror, frightened eyes staring back at him. He stopped himself rubbing against Crowley, rocking his hips back as his body wanted to do. He was half-hard already, overheated, oversensitive, watching Crowley's every move in anticipation.

The demon dragged his hand down the seam of Aziraphale's shirt, spreading it open, revealing a line of overheated skin to the open air inch by inch. Crowley kissed his ear, then his neck, long fingers sliding along his bare chest, toying with the fine white hair. Then he bit down on Aziraphale's ear and his hand plunged lower, coming to cup his swelling cock. 

Aziraphale let out a cry and jerked backwards, unable to get away, only pushing himself further in Crowley's arms. In their new position he could feel Crowley’s hard cock against him. The demon gave a grunt of satisfaction and started rubbing up against him. “Please, no, I don't, I didn't mean to, please, Crowley, I... I apologise if I... If I...”

“I don't want you to say you're sorry, angel. I want you to show me.” Crowley gave his cock a squeeze and then kicked him in the back of the knee, just the slightest nudge buckling his legs out from under him. Aziraphale fell to the ground with a cry of surprise, his knees coming down hard on the wooden floor. 

He found himself staring up at Crowley, a reedy whimper escaping through his teeth on each breath, watching Crowley leisurely shuck his jacket, his tie, his shirt, all with a gorgeous, golden intensity in his face. Aziraphale found himself eye-level with Crowley's belt buckle, acres of warm, kissable skin within reach, the trail of dark hair running down from his navel disappearing tantalisingly into those too-tight trousers. 

Crowley undid his belt with a smirk, staring down at Aziraphale with dark eyes. He took his time, working at his fly with slow, measured movements. “Come on then, show me how very, very sorry you are.”

Aziraphale shrunk back. Somehow, the fear and humiliation of being bound up, on his knees at a demon's mercy, had him helplessly, hopelessly aroused, burning inside his own skin. Crowley worked his tight trousers down his hips, just far enough to free his cock. He was hard, glistening with precome. Aziraphale looked up defiantly, face burning, leaning away from Crowley. 

“No, I won't. Please don't so this. It's not too late...”

Crowley raised a hand, ready to strike. Aziraphale’s cock twitched in response. “Are you sure you want to make this hard on yourself, angel?”

The angel looked at the raised hand, the hard line of Crowley's mouth. He wasn’t going to strike. He was waiting for some signal, some form of permission without breaking the scene. Aziraphale sat on his heels, eyeing the hand that was about to come down on him, panting with fear and excitement. He leaned back further, turning his face away and closing his eyes. 

Crowley backhanded him, a loud crack echoing in the space, snapping his head to the side. The sting of it shot straight down him and his cock responded with a pulse and a dribble, achingly hard now. Aziraphale gasped with the shock of it, his cheek stinging, tears springing to his eyes. 

Crowley chose the perfect moment to grab him by the chin - while he was still reeling, disoriented and shaken, - and guided his cock into Aziraphale's opened mouth. The angel moaned, in protest or gratitude, one or the other. 

“That's it, that's it,” Crowley hissed, sliding his hand to the nape of the angel's neck to push his cock further into his mouth. Aziraphale could hear the noises coming from his own throat as he tried to take it, always so overwhelmingly big in his mouth, tried to accommodate him, rolling his tongue along the salty skin.

Crowley sighed and leaned back, resting both his hands above his head. Aziraphale looked up at him, confused. He'd expected Crowley to grab at his hair, fuck his throat, take him roughly, but Crowley smirked at him. “What, thought I'd do all the work, did you? Take it nice and slow, angel, I want to enjoy this.”

Aziraphale's eyes burned, his cheeks burned as he realised Crowley's intention. This wasn't about taking him by force, it was about him servicing the demon's cock, doing all the work himself. Hands bound behind his back, on his knees, mouth full of cock he closed his eyes and started to suck, working his tongue, servicing him nice and slow as requested, burning with shame and arousal. In Egypt he'd imagined a kilt pushed up over Crowley's hips. In Britannia, breeches unlaces, the smell of coarse leather thonging. Always himself on his knees, mouth wide, sucking off the sweat and pulsing precome. 

Crowley moaned, head thrown back, hands scrabbling at the bookshelves around him. He wasn't holding back, obscenely vocal, not letting Aziraphale forget for a second what he was doing as he bobbed back and forth, giving in to his assailant's demands completely. 

“Oh, good boy,” Crowley crooned. “They really teach you how to suck cock in heaven, don't they?”

 _You taught me how to suck cock_ , Aziraphale thought but couldn't say. He took it so slow, not taking it deep, paying extra attention to flicking his tongue along the head. His shoulders ached from how his hands were forced behind his back. He was squirming, so desperately hard, trying to get any friction he could find in his own trousers but coming up with just enough to tantalise without any satisfaction. 

Crowley didn't make it easy on him, keeping him on his knees, teasing himself with the angel's mouth until Aziraphale's jaw hurt. Aziraphale was taking it slightly deeper with each surge forward until the head was nudging at his throat. He tried to relax and let himself take more, tried to let his mortification and the ache for more mix up with each other, tried to let it spur him further. 

“Yes, yes, angel,” Crowley gasped, hips bucking forward and nearly choking Aziraphale. He dropped one hand to Aziraphale's hair, guiding him from the crook of his neck. “More, I know you can give me more. Suck it, angel. Fuck me, you're a greedy little slut aren't you?”

Aziraphale's hips jerked, the insult sending a shock through him. He moaned against Crowley's skin, letting the hand on his head direct him, make him swallow around the cock pushing into his throat. He was shivering. It had been good in his imagination but in reality it was... it was overwhelming. He needed to be touched. Frantically. Urgently. His skin was buzzing and burning, he was pressing forward, trying to swallow Crowley down. The demon was swelling in his mouth, not far off his release, choking him as he tried to take it deeper. 

Crowley's hand tightened in his hair and pulled him back. Aziraphale blinked up at him, taking in his pleasure-stricken face, his head thrown back as he took himself in hand and started stroking himself. He looked down, their eyes locking. 

“Open your mouth,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale did, closing his eyes, face turned upward. He counted Crowley's sharp breaths, intermingled with the sound of slick flesh on flesh. Crowley groaned deep in his throat and Aziraphale squeezed his eyes closed.

Crowley came on his face, warms pulses of come across his mouth and nose. He licked up what he could, trying not to appear too eager so as not to break the scene. God, Crowley was so beautiful in his intensity, so commanding. 

He breathed in hard, craning his neck to look at Crowley, slumped against the bookcase. He tried to reorient himself, testing the bonds at his wrists to remind him where he was. His hands were still held fast, his shoulders still aching. 

“You've had your fun, Crowley,” Aziraphale snapped, trying to sound stern although it came out more like a plea. God, he was so hard. “Now let me go.”

Crowley laughed, an exhausted chuckle, his hand still buried in Aziraphale's curles. A dopey, giddy smile spread across his face, and it might have been endearing, but it wasn't. It was menacing. 

The slap came out of nowhere, more surprising then painful, Aziraphale only just bracing himself before he was sent sprawling from the force of it. He let out a cry, almost a sob, trying to curl in on himself. 

“I'll tell you when we're done. I haven't waited all these years for a quick blowjob.”

One hand under his armpit hauled him to his feet and he stumbled, forced forward toward his desk. 

He hit the hard surface with a jolt, jarring his abused shoulders and striking at his collarbone and nose. He found his face pressed against his ledger, Crowley's come still dripping from his nose and chin. He squirmed but it was useless. Tied as he was the tiniest pressure between his shoulder blades rendered him helpless. His struggle manifested only as a wiggling of shoulders and hips, pinned so completely in place. 

Crowley leaned over him, chest to back, pressing him down further into the desk. “Colour, my angel?”

“Green, _very green_ ,” Aziraphale gasped into the paper, his face mushed into his desk. If Crowley didn't touch him soon he'd have to safeword out, he was going to die. 

Crowley reached around his belly and unbuckled his belt. He cried out in protest, trying once more to fight his way out but reduced to wriggling impotently against the desk. Crowley slipped the belt loose, undid his trousers. Aziraphale let himself shout, pretending to struggle. 

“No, please, Crowley, no, this is too much. I'll do anything...”

“Yeah you will,” Crowley said, voice smug. He pressed a hand down hard on Aziraphale's back. “ _Stay_.”

Aziraphale stayed. The pressure on his back let up and his trousers were eased down his legs, stuck around his thighs. He keened against the paper, presenting himself to Crowley, more vulnerable than he'd ever been in his life. In Rome he'd thought of being spread over the low sofas. In Byzantium the altar. 

The snap of a bottle cap sounded damp in the night air. Something slick was dribbled down the cleft of his arse and he whimpered. It was cold. Crowley pushed a finger into him without ceremony, right to the third knuckle. Aziraphale shouted in surprise, his hips jerking away on their own. Crowley ignored him.

“Please, no, please,” Aziraphale begged, just so Crowley could put him in his place again. “Please, I _can't_...”

Crowley spanked him, hard, the slap echoing around the shop. “But you look so pretty like this, angel.”

Aziraphale moaned as Crowley dripped more lube onto his finger, pressing in again and again, his pace quick, no time to relax or adjust. It was so intrusive, his body clenching and straining, trying to reject the invasion but Crowley just kept pushing, spreading more lube, and more, and more. He seemed to be making a meal of it, sacrificing half the bottle to the task. It was dripping down the back of his thighs by the time Crowley added a second finger. 

He made it feel like so much, Aziraphale was all but wailing from the pressure of it. Crowley struck the sweet spot inside him again and again, his hips twitching and jerking as sparks cascaded down his spine. It felt like an eternity, being worked and fucked and spread open.

Crowley would sometimes pause the movement of the hand that was penetrating him to reward the angel with an open-handed slap, leaving Aziraphale’s arse sore and stinging and glowing. 

The angel was delirious, floating and moaning and crying when Crowley slipped his fingers out and replaced them with the blunt, promising press of his cock. Aziraphale tugged at his restraints without thinking, needing to press his hands to his face to smother the frantic, rising cries. 

Crowley pressed forward, stretching him open, slipping inside him. Aziraphale shouted, pulled at his wrists, tried to do anything and everything as an agonising, frictionless orgasm was pulled out of him. 

Crowley froze, eyes boring into the back of Aziraphale's head. Aziraphale panted, trying to get himself back under control, trying to pretend to fight back again, but his whole body was stricken, left unsatisfied. 

“Oh, angel.” A dark chuckle sent a shiver down his back. Crowley started moving, pushing into him, starting slow enough but quickly working his way up to a punishing pace. He brought his hand down hard on Aziraphale's arse. “No more pretending you don't want this. Look at you, sweet thing, pretending you haven't been dying for a cock up your arse.”

Should he be ashamed? He was, although he knew it was fake, he burned with it, desperate to be less exposed as Crowley pounded into him, the desk creaking and shifting with every sharp thrust. It was building inside him again already, the last awful thing leaving him so unfulfilled. 

“Mine, you're mine, you're mine,” Crowley chanted above him, digging his claws into the tender flesh of Aziraphale's hips, occasionally letting go to land a harsh slap on his outer thigh

His fingertips dug in deep, leaving red marks on pale skin, taking the angel as roughly as he could. Crowley's body tightened, he braced himself against the desk with one knee and let out a strangled cry. Aziraphale felt the rush of warmth, the last few pounding pushes into him, Crowley coming inside him as he lay tied up and powerless on the desk. 

Crowley slowed, hips rocking forward gently, riding it out, but he didn't stop. Aziraphale heard a whimpering sound and it took him a moment to realise it was coming from him. It burned and stung to be kept so full like this, to be taken so roughly, but he was bound so tight he hardly cared. He wanted... he _needed_...

“Crowley...” he whined, trying to wiggle against him.

“We're not done,” the demon panted, still slowly pushing forward. “I'm not done with you. Not until...” He leaned forward, breathing heavily. “Not until you come again, angel. You're going to come on my cock again, do you understand?”

 _Yes_. “No! You've got to let me go!” he said, pushing himself up on his toes, trying to get Crowley deeper. The inside of this thighs was wet and sticky, Crowley's spend dripping down him. He was still moving, slowly fucking into him, just enough to drive him crazy, not enough to help him along. 

The words had the desired effect and Crowley shoved into him roughly again, the force of it making the desk crack against the wall. He started to pick up his pace again. “I've got to? I don't think you understand who's in charge here.”

“I do, I know...”

“Say it, angel, say you're mine to use.”

“I'm... I'm...” Aziraphale's flush deepened, struck suddenly with how much he wanted to say the words. Crowley picked up his pace, chasing that terrible, perfect, pounding rhythm that danced between pleasure and pain. 

“Say it!” 

“Yours,” Aziraphale wailed. “Yours to use, I'm yours to- I'm- Crowley, yellow, touch me, touch me, touch me!”

Crowley fell forward, bracing himself against the desk and wrapped a hand around Aziraphale's cock, matching the punishing pace of his hips. Aziraphale cried out, digging his toes into the carpet, trying anything to find some counterpoint, to move, to get just that little bit more. Crowley was fucking into him hard, the desk rocking under them, their cries and groans and the sound of their skin striking skin surrounded them. 

Aziraphale was seeing stars, frantic, unable to move, forced to just lie on his chest and let his orgasm hit him like an oncoming car. A noise escaped him, something high-pitched and strangled. His body jerked, arched and his vision whited out as he came in Crowley's fist. 

He lay on the desk, each breath coming out as a moan, vaguely aware that Crowley was spilling inside him again. He couldn't move except to shudder, body pulsing as he rode it out, aftershocks trembling through him. 

When Crowley drew back he made no move to follow. Even as the ties around his wrists fell away all he could do was lie against the desk and twitch. 

A strong arm wrapped around his waist, Crowley took him by the wrist and looped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him upright. “Alright, angel? Come on, we're going to bed.”

Crowley mercifully didn't seem to expect an answer, supporting and guiding him, one foot in front of the other. It was all a bit of a blur, his body still shaking, loose and relaxed. Crowley eased him down onto the soft bed and then there was a warm flannel in his hand. He wiped down Aziraphale's face, then his slick inner thighs. 

The warmth of it, the gentleness helped Aziraphale centre himself, come back to the room. He leaned against Crowley, wrapping his arms around him, soaking in the warm skin. 

“Alright, angel?” Crowley asked again with a kiss to his forehead. 

Aziraphale nodded, a breathless laugh escaping him. “More than alright.”

Crowley grinned and bundled him into his arms. With a gesture, their remaining clothes were gone, leaving them naked, cuddled together. Crowley held him, stroking his back, rocking him gently as they came down together. 

“Don't know why we don't do that every Tuesday,” Crowley mumbled into his hair. 

Aziraphale let out a shocked laugh, giddy in the aftermath. “Maybe we should from now on.”

Crowley smiled at him fondly. “Did it do the trick, then? Help you work through some things?”

“I rather think it did,” Aziraphale sighed. It wasn't some easy fix, there was no such thing, but it cast many shame-faced nights in a rather different light, in retrospect. A game he had been playing. A game he'd finally won. 

He relaxed into Crowley's embrace, happy to sleep here, or close his eyes until his legs started functioning again. Crowley stroked his back, his hair, dropping kisses against his face and shoulder, lulling him into a trance, lost in the dopey waves of afterglow. 

“I thought about you, too,” Crowley whispered, not breaking the blanket of calm in the air. “From the start. From Eden. Thought about kissing you every night. Can't believe you're mine now.”

Aziraphale raised his head, regarded Crowley's lovely face through foggy eyes. He leaned up and kissed his lips, just the once, softly, letting it linger. When he let go it was with a contented sigh. He huddled again into Crowley's body, letting himself be dragged back to that calm, safe place. “I was always yours.”


End file.
